by Kay Hooper
“How do you feel about that?” Keith asked.
“Patronized.” The response was instant and sharp. After a moment, she laughed a bit shakily. “It all began to build up inside me, that’s why I left.” She hesitated again, then said, “I’m sorry. I have no right to dump all this in your lap.”
Keith, who had been thinking even as he listened, ignored her words. Slowly, he said, “Someone you love expects you to play a part that makes you uncomfortable, to be a pipeline for information that helps him in his career. He expects you to fit yourself into his life in a way that satisfies his needs rather than yours. You feel you don’t matter to him except in that role. Even more, his demands are smothering you. Your own thoughts and opinions aren’t valued, your life isn’t yours to live.”
“Did I say all that?” Her voice was small.
“I think you did.”
“I’m sorry.”
Turning his gaze out toward the ocean and the graying darkness that heralded daybreak, Keith said, “Don’t be. I’m just here to listen to the tough dawn questions, remember? And the most important question, I think, is—what are you going to do about your problem? Running away hasn’t solved anything.”
“Running?”
“It’s what you did. You couldn’t tell him how you felt, so you just left. But now he wants you to come home. So what are you going to do?”
“I’m not going home. Not yet. Maybe if I stay away long enough…”
“He’ll change? Do you really believe what you’re saying?”
“No.” She sighed almost inaudibly. “I don’t. He doesn’t even recognize a problem. And he won’t until I confront him. That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
“You said it.”
“I’ll hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him.”
Keith hesitated, then said, “Do you really believe it’s better to go on hurting yourself? To go on living a life you don’t want, being a person you’re not? If he knew what this was doing to you, do you believe he’d choose to enrich his life at the expense of yours?”
Answering the last question, she said very quietly, “I hope not.”
They were both silent for several minutes while the sky lightened in the east, and then she stirred slightly. “Tough questions. It doesn’t help much that I know the answers.”
“Sometimes,” he said, “knowing the answers gives you nothing except more questions.”
“Until another dawn?” Her voice was wistful.
He hesitated, then said, “Don’t force it. Take the time you need and let the answers sort themselves out. We always know what’s best for us, if we’ll just be patient and allow our instincts to tell us.”
“Then I’ll try. Thanks. I had no right to impose, but you’ve been a lot of help.”
“No problem.” He resisted the urge to keep the conversation going, telling himself firmly there wouldn’t be any more morning interludes like this one. Already, he’d gotten involved despite himself, her problems worrying him, and he just didn’t have the energy to spare. It had to stop.
“Well…thanks again,” she murmured, and he listened in silence to the soft sounds of her leaving the balcony.
He sat gazing out at the dawn, watching the first reddening of the horizon become a blazing sunrise. He did get up and look down on the beach where she was beginning her morning run. Red hair. Beyond that, he didn’t think very much. After a while, he went into his suite and to bed.
He didn’t go out onto his balcony the next morning.
—
Erin spent most of the day just thinking. She walked on the beach, swam in the hotel’s pool, treated herself to a sauna and massage. It was rare for her, this luxury of time to herself, and she enjoyed it. The sense of guilt she felt at so abruptly having deserted her father was still with her, but fainter now and much less painful than it had been.
Other problems didn’t seem so overwhelming now, and she was even able to feel a kind of wry amusement at the number of male hotel guests who apparently felt she shouldn’t be alone. It was something Erin had coped with since her teens, and the stage of being flattered by the attention was long past. She had learned, often painfully, that her looks drew men who were never interested in seeing beneath the centerfold proportions and striking features…men who never cared about her ideas or her feelings.
But they did want to talk to her. Oh, yes. They talked as if a dam had burst. They spilled out words in a torrent, tending to stare at her while doing so, telling her things she had no right to know. That was the “asset” her father appreciated so much. Even men with high security clearances who certainly should have known better told her things they shouldn’t.
To impress her, according to her father.
Her quiet balcony-neighbor had been right; her father was using her to further his own ambitions. Perhaps she’d feel differently about her talent if it were important in her own career or project to be able to glean information—but she doubted it. Seldom willing to hide her own motives or intelligence for any reason, she was unlikely to choose a career that demanded an ability to interrogate or dissemble.
So what did she want to do with her life? A tricky question—especially for a woman of twenty-eight who should have made her choice long ago.
The answer came to her that night as she lay awake in bed, drifted into her mind and settled firmly. She wanted a simple life. Love, a home, children.
She had grown up in a lifestyle so many people seemed to think was glamorous. The expensive schools, living and vacationing in exotic places, wealth. She had worn jewels and designer gowns, sailed on yachts, flown in private jets. She had, quite literally, danced with princes.
But she had never felt she quite belonged in that life. More comfortable with her hair loose and her face free of makeup, wearing jeans or sweatpants, she had turned herself into a part-time lady to please her father. Now, lying awake in her quiet bedroom, she knew it had been a loving gesture that had backfired. She could be a part-time lady, but she could never replace her mother and she couldn’t go on submerging so much of herself out of guilt.
She wanted a home and family. She wanted a simple life. She wanted to paint.
That last was so surprising a thought that she actually caught her breath. Paint? Well, sure, she’d painted in school; in fact, her art teacher had said she was quite good. But she’d never been conscious of the desire to go on with it. Had she?
Erin let the tantalizing thought follow her into sleep, quite wary of making a quick—and possibly wrong—choice.
She woke up around four and ordered coffee and juice sent up, grateful for twenty-four-hour room service that delivered her order promptly. It helped her to be awake and clear-minded when she called London a few minutes later. The call went through quickly, and she kept her voice calm and casual when she greeted her father.
“Hi, Dad.” Characteristically, her father had more important things on his mind than a polite greeting.
“Erin, I can’t find next month’s schedule. Where on earth did you put it?”
“It’s in the center drawer of your desk,” she answered automatically. “Dad—”
“They want me in Turkey in six weeks. Burleigh’s retiring, and I’m to fill the post for at least a year. It means packing up and moving again but there shouldn’t be a problem, you’ve gotten quite good at it. The residence is furnished, of course—”
“Dad.” Erin drew a deep breath. “I won’t be going with you, to Turkey or anywhere else.”
“Nonsense, of course you will.” Richard Fane Prentice, Earl of Westford and the ambassador Britain chose to utilize for temporary duty in sensitive areas of the globe, sounded merely impatient. “There’s a great deal to do, Erin, so you’d better come home right away.”
“No,” she said softly.
Silence, utter and astounded, greeted that simple word.
Erin took another breath. “Dad, I didn’t choose a diplomatic career. You did. It’s your life we’re talking
about, not mine. I have to live my life. I’m not even sure I want to stay in England. I’ve always felt more at home in the States.” She hesitated. “I’m a coward to tell you like this, I know, but I just didn’t know how to say it. I don’t want to hurt you, or disappoint you, and I don’t want us to fight—”
“Erin, what are you talking about?”
She winced at the grimness she heard in his voice, and forced herself not to weaken. “I’m talking about choices. I have to make my own, Dad. I have a lot of thinking to do, but I know that the one choice I won’t make is to fit myself into your life because that’s where you want me to be. I’m sorry.”
“Come home,” he said quietly. “We obviously need to talk, and not like this.”
She managed a faint laugh. “No, I’m not brave enough to come home just yet. The habit of doing what you want is too strong. Besides, I know you’ll ask questions—and I don’t have all the answers. I will, but I need time to myself to find them.”
“Erin, we have to talk about this.”
“Yes. But not just now. I only wanted to tell you that I won’t be coming home today—or in two weeks. I’m going to stay here for a while. Maybe go up to New England and visit Mother’s family. And I won’t be calling every morning. Your secretary isn’t hopeless, Dad, and you aren’t nearly as absent-minded as you think; you don’t need me to keep your life in order.”
He was silent.
There was a great deal Erin would have to tell him eventually. As he’d said, they needed to talk face to face. But even though she’d managed to say more than she had expected to be able to, she wasn’t yet ready to confront the problems head-on. She’d given him something to think about, and that was enough for now.
“I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Erin—”
“In a few days, Dad. I love you. Bye.” She cradled the receiver and stared at the phone for a few moments, feeling that a weight had eased even if it hadn’t completely disappeared. She wasn’t sure her father would patiently wait until she decided to call him again, but she hoped he would. And she brushed aside the faint pang of guilt she felt at having hit him with this just when he was preparing to take on a new assignment. Where her father was concerned, there would never be a “right” time, she knew.
She rose from the edge of the bed before she realized where she was going, but wasn’t very surprised that her steps led her directly to the balcony doors. He had given her the courage to begin confronting her problems, and she wanted to tell him that. She opened the French doors and went out into the cool darkness.
He wasn’t there. She knew. She felt it. There was an absence, an emptiness on the other side of the security screen. Still, distrusting her own senses, she couldn’t help but ask softly, “Are you there?”
Silence, except for the muted sound of the waves below.
Disappointment and an odd sense of hurt swept over her, and Erin chided herself for the feelings. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as if they had an appointment out here, or that she could expect anything at all from him.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. Maybe he’d gone straight to bed, tired after work. Or maybe his job had ended and he’d checked out of the hotel.
He was a stranger, after all. Just a quiet voice in the darkness that had eased her anxiety and shown her the right path to take. She didn’t know him. Not his name. Not even what he looked like. And why did he matter to her? It was ridiculous. She’d wanted no demands, no obligations or expectations, and here she was upset because he wasn’t where she’d expected him to be, where she wanted him to be.
She reminded herself of all that. But she waited. The eastern horizon lightened, graying toward dawn. The first purple and pink tendrils of light turned red and then gold. The sun peeked over the rim of the ocean cautiously, then lifted, finally, to announce a new day.
He didn’t come.
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